Who is Eleanor Rigby?

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face
that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
in the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?
Ah, look at all the lonely people
Ah, look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
and was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
from his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Today, as I was walking along the way, I saw her again. Yes, there she is... I saw her yesterday, too. And perhaps, almost certainly, I will see her tomorrow. She’s always somewhere. She haunts me. I turn the corner, and there she is — Eleanor.

As I reach for my box of Cheerios in the air-conditioned supermarket, I hear them singing about her on the Muzak — Eleanor, Eleanor Rigby. I do not escape her. Sometimes she fools me with disguises, and at first I do not realize it is really her. She dresses like the teller at my bank; she talks politely and smiles. And then I catch that familiar look in her eyes and I realize... it’s her... it’s Eleanor.

Or sometimes at a party, everyone seems so happy... she’s the center of the crowd, talking loudly and laughing, but then she turns her back for a moment and I catch a glimpse of that look on her face and I realize again... it’s Eleanor... she’s wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door... she’s trying to be someone else again. Sometimes she may even fool me completely and I never realize that I am talking with her. She has so many faces...

Perhaps You’ve noticed her, too. Perhaps you have caught a glimpse of her pale, sad face peering at you from behind her curtains as you passed by her home. Perhaps you know her. Does she haunt you, too? Maybe your own name is “Eleanor Rigby” but you’re too ashamed to admit it. Many of us were, too.

The really important thing is this: we have a message for Eleanor. If you see her, can you please tell her this: there is a home for her — a home for the lonely — if she wants to find it...

The Twelve Tribes is a confederation of twelve self-governing tribes, composed of self-governing communities. We are disciples of the Son of God whose name in Hebrew is Yahshua. We follow the pattern of the early church in Acts 2:44 and 4:32, truly believing everything that is written in the Old and New Covenants of the Bible, and sharing all things in common.